


Faith, Hope, and Charity

by 1917farmgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 13:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/pseuds/1917farmgirl
Summary: In a world so often cruel and dark, moments of goodness and light can always be found.Short collection of holiday stories.Banner by amoretti @ TDA.





	1. Faith

**Faith, Hope, and Charity**

Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to my adopted big brother, theelderwand. Just wanted you to know that because of the kind of person you are, you make a lot of peoples’ lives a little better, and help produce a lot of smiles. Merry Christmas, Bro! You deserve it!

 

**1\. Faith**

_“…faith stronger than fear, stronger than swords.”_

_\- Cherie Call_

*****

She found him sitting on the widow’s walk, gazing at the stars.

For a long time, she just watched him silently, sorrowed by the weary, haggard lines on his face, hands resting lightly on the small bump of her stomach. It wasn’t that long ago that he had come back to her, spurred by some life altering event he had yet to tell her about. She’d been hurt by his leaving, his lack of faith in their love and their ability to care for this new life that was growing inside her, but she’d still welcomed him back with open arms.

Now if only she could rebuild that hope and trust, that faith in the future.

“Remus, love, you should come inside. Mum’s got Christmas Eve dinner ready to serve,” she finally said, coming up behind him and running gentle fingers through his graying hair.

He was silent for several long minutes, not acknowledging that she’d spoken, but finally he turned to her with an anguished expression. 

“What are we doing, Dora?” he asked desperately.

“What do you mean?” she said, coming around in front of him and leaning against the wooden railing.

“Bringing a life into the world now, in the midst of all of this? How can we even consider it?”

Anger flashed through her, hot and bright like her hair, and she frowned. It was time to end this discussion once and for all. “And when do you think would be a better time?” she snapped.

“Dora, look at us! Hiding out here at your mother’s. Your dad’s on the run, our friends are in hiding and scattered. We’re wanted for our association with the Order, we’re wanted for marrying without permission, you’re watched as a half-blood and I’m wanted for being a dangerous _creature_ ,” he spat the word with self-loathing. “How can we bring a baby into that?”

“That’s a little hypocritical of you, don’t you think, especially at this time of year?”

“What do you mean?” it was his turn to ask, thrown by her response.

“If I recall, the whole reason this holiday we’re celebrating came to exist was because a mum, knowing the odds and what her child was likely to face, had enough faith to let him be born.”

Remus stared at her, slightly stunned by the sudden turn in the conversation. She took advantage of it and pressed on.

“The story also goes that a father – a loving, caring dad who wanted the best for his wife and child – had enough faith to take them to a city far away, into danger. He could have stayed home, waited for it to be safer, but he didn’t.”

“I never thought of you as religious,” her husband finally managed to stammer.

“I’m not. But I know faith when I see it.” She paused for a moment, sighing in frustration as she turned to look out at the moonless night, wishing for a way to make this man that she loved so much understand the feelings in her heart. “Remus, I’ve been thinking a lot about that old tale. If a husband and a wife two-thousand years ago could walk into a strange city, one ruled by their conquerors, with nowhere to stay, no food to eat, no reassurance of safety, and give birth to a child… Why can’t we do it? Here, with a house to live in, and family and friends all around us, and magic and…and everything!” She turned back to him, frustration evident. 

“And what if the real war starts tomorrow and one or both of us are suddenly gone?” he countered, eyes brimming with worry.

“And what if we get hit by a car on Tuesday, or lightening strikes, or you fall down the stairs? If we live our lives waiting for the next what-if we’ll never live at all, Remus!” 

“What if…what if the baby is like me?”

Sighing deeply, she sank down on the bench next to him and gathered his hands up into hers, holding them tightly as she gazed forcefully into his eyes. “Then he will be a good, kind, caring and brave person with a heart bigger than all of Gringott’s vaults. Remus Lupin, I’m going to tell you something and I need you to listen for once – really listen. I married you because I love you. Despite all the stupid people in the world who told me I shouldn’t – because of your condition, because of your age, because you never wash your socks. I heard every single one of them and I didn’t care, love! I didn’t care and I still don’t care. I love you! And I love this child we’ve created together; I have faith in the future we’re starting. I refuse to let You-Know-Who and his cronies or any other evil that might be out there steal that from us! I’m bloody terrified, too, but we have to have faith, Remus, faith stronger than our fear or we end up old and withered and empty – and they win.”

For a long moment, he just stared at her and then suddenly, something inside that he’d been holding onto for an eternity seemed to break and he pulled her to him fiercely, sobbing. Gently, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, knowing that on this Christmas Eve, for the first time in a very long time, they were okay.


	2. Hope

**2\. Hope**   
_“Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul,_  
And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all…”  
\- Emily Dickenson

_“People can live without pleasure but not without hope.”  
\- Nechama Tec_

*****

Normally, they would have just crept quietly past the sitting room and up the stairs to deposit their products but something about the scene stopped them in their tracks. 

Wordlessly, they shared a look before turning and setting their packages down on the kitchen table.

“Mum?” asked Fred quietly, coming into the living room and folding his lanky form down onto the carpet among the boxes surrounding their mother.

“What is it?” added George gently, perching on the footstool on the other side of her and placing a hand on her shoulder. She was shaking slightly and there were silent tears trailing down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffling strongly, she gestured to the open, half-empty boxes covering the floor and all the chairs, their contents strewn around the room.

“I can’t do it,” she said softly. “I just can’t do it this year.”

The twins glanced around taking in the barren Christmas tree in the corner, the ornaments and strings of lights and tinsel thrown around or still unpacked. 

“We’re scattered every which-way this year, our every move watched. Bill and Fleur don’t dare leave their house, Charlie can’t come home for fear he won’t be allowed to leave, and Percy – ” Her voice broke but she continued. “Percy’s in so deep I don’t know what will become of him.”

Over her bowed head, Fred and George shared a hard look, but neither said anything. 

“I just don’t see the point of being festive this year, boys,” she finished softly. 

“Well, there is still us…” suggested Fred quietly.

“…and Ginny and Dad,” added George pointedly.

“I know that, boys, and I’m not trying to ruin your holiday, but…” she trailed off, her crying lessoning as a different emotion started to leak through. “I can’t see the point of getting my house all decorated when at any moment someone could come and drag us all away from it!”

Fred stood up suddenly, his face firm. “But, Mum, that’s exactly _why_ we need to do it!” he said loudly as George joined him on his feet.

Their mother stared at them.

“Fred’s right, Mum,” said George earnestly. “We have to celebrate, and go all out this year. Because if the Death Eaters are gonna come in the middle of the night and drag me from my bed to torture or kill me – ”

He watched his mum gasp at his words but he didn’t take them back. They’d known for a long time this wasn’t a game they were part of. 

“ – then they are bloody well gonna have to walk through the biggest, brightest Christmas display ever known, just out of spite,” finished Fred solemnly. “We might not be able to stop them from coming eventually, but we refuse to act like we’re waiting for them.”

Their mum sniffled again, tears once again glinting in her eyes, whether from their fool-hearty bravery or her worry for them they didn’t know. Probably both. 

Fred sighed and bent back down, sitting on the stool George had just vacated. “Look, Mum,” he said gently, picking up the ornaments she had been holding carefully in her lap since they had walked in. They were nothing special, just some reindeer made of popsicle sticks and glue, but both boys knew exactly why she was holding them so tenderly. They’d been made by Ron and Harry, last Christmas, in one of the handful of peaceful, fun times the family had spent together in the last few years. “You know we wish more than anything that we were out there helping them, protecting them. We would have gone with them in a heartbeat, but for some reason Harry felt he couldn’t ask us.” He stopped, again wondering why he and George had been left behind, but knowing he couldn’t change it. “But I’m going to tell you something Harry once told us, when he gave us his Triwizard winnings.”

“Forced us to take them is more like it,” added George.

Fred nodded in agreement before continuing. “He said to get working on our joke shop because he could do with a few laughs. Said he had a feeling we were going to need them more than usual before long.*”

“So don’t you see, Mum,” George picked up, knowing exactly where his twin was going with this. “That’s the real reason we have to celebrate, we have to keep up our hope. For them. Because somewhere, Ron and Harry and Hermione are out there, doing Merlin only knows what, but whatever it is, it’s so that we can win this war.”

“That’s why we laugh, Mum,” said Fred earnestly, standing up and hanging the two ornaments on the tree with great care. “And joke and sell toys and pranks, even now. Because we have hope that someday, things will be right again. Because if we stopped, it would feel like a huge betrayal of hope and faith in those three and everything they’re risking and suffering for us.”

“And it would be just one more way for the bad guys to win,” added George with a shrug.

“Which really cheeses us off, actually,” Fred couldn’t help throwing out there.

Their mum hadn’t said a word for a long time, but now she sighed, wiping a hand across her cheeks as she started wearily to her feet. “I don’t know why I keep underestimated you two like this, but I should really learn not to.” 

“Yeah, Mum, you really should,” said George cheekily, giving her a hand to finish getting up. 

“We’ve been telling you that for years, you know…” said Fred, feigning hurt. “You know we’ll always be here for you, right, George and I?”

“Of course I do, boys,” she said, reaching up to give each twin a loving pat on the cheek. 

“Excellent,” replied Fred, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Now, what do you say we light this place up like…well, a Christmas tree, before Dad and Ginny get home?”

“I suppose we’d better,” agreed their mum, her smile still weary but her tears dried. “For Ron.”

“And Hermione,” added George, giving a mock salute to the air.

“And Harry,” finished Fred. “The hope of us all.”

 

* Paraphrased quote from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ , Chapter 37, p 733.


	3. Charity

_3\. Charity_

_“How far that little candle throws his beams!_  
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”  
\- William Shakespeare 

_“Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.”  
\- Norman B. Rice_

*****

_“Are you more comfortable now, Mr. Ollivander? I know my lap isn’t as good as a pillow, and I have been told my knees are rather lumpy, but I suppose it’s better than lying on the cold floor.”_ Her voice was soft, innocent still.

_“Child,”_ the broken, old man whispered in a gravelly voice. _“Your very presence is a comfort, a light in the dark, and one I thought never to have again.”_

Draco hid behind a stone pillar – unseen – listening and watching the faint shadows cast by the tiny flickering light on the grey wall; impersonal actors playing out the plot he couldn’t bring himself to turn and witness in flesh. He’d brought the daily meal to the prisoners more than half an hour ago as ordered; he should have returned to the upper chambers, but something held him back.

_“You mustn’t give up, Mr. Ollivander,”_ she chided gently. _“Harry and my friends will save the world – they’re good at that – and then when they’re done someone will come find us. Lost things have a way of turning up, if you just don’t worry too much.”_

It was a lie. Draco knew that. He sat frozen in the meetings, listening, numb and dead. He knew what would happen. Ollivander would die. The girl would suffer in pain and darkness, innocence ripped away, until even her light was snuffed out. Potter, Weasley, Granger…they would all be found. The Dark Lord would laugh at them, that soft, gentle laugh that made Draco want to be sick, and then with a flick of his wand they would fall dead. 

Except for Potter. Potter’s life would not end quickly or easily…

In the end, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters would win, magical superiority would reign…and all Draco could think of was that he was so tired of the dark.

Ollivander didn’t answer Luna. Apparently Draco wasn’t the only one who knew how to keep score.

_“It’s Christmas Eve, you know,”_ continued Luna quietly. _“Father Christmas will be out. I hope Dad remembers the biscuits for him this year. They are his favorites.”_

Christmas Eve and Father Christmas. Draco had actually forgotten. He was rather certain the Dark Lord’s plans didn’t include trivial, human pleasures like Christmas.

Silence fell, and the shadows grew tall and wavered as the candle burned low. Still, Draco lingered, waiting, but for what, he wasn’t sure.

_“The light will be gone soon, Mr. Ollivander,”_ whispered Luna, and for the first time her voice quavered slightly, frightened. _“I’m not very fond of the dark.”_

_“It’s always dark here,”_ the old man replied softly. 

How true that was – in the cellar with the prisoners, in the Manor above, in the ever-darkening world beyond its gates.

_“Per—perhaps the light will last,”_ she stammered. _“I remember a story my Grams used to tell. About some rebels and a light that wouldn’t die. They were outnumbered, you see, fighting a war everyone knew they couldn’t win, but they were right and good so they kept fighting.”_

Her voice was suddenly growing in strength and Draco found he wanted to know – _needed_ to know how this story ended.

_“They were called the Maccabees, and their people had been conquered and told what to do by the Greeks. They were told they couldn’t be who they were, told they had to change. But they didn’t want to, so they fought back. For five years they fought back, even when everyone told them it was silly and that they should stop.”_

The candle flickered and spit and the light waned to a watery glow, its wax almost gone. Draco heard Luna draw a sharp breath, but then she continued with her story, and for some reason he couldn’t explain he was very relieved that she did.

_“After the fighting was done, they wanted to fix their temple. They needed to purify it and light their lamps, using only special oil, but the Greeks had ruined all of it. Somehow they found a tiny bit, only it wasn’t near enough. But, when they lit the lamps, a wonderful thing happened! That little bit of oil lasted and lasted, for eight whole days! So you see, Mr. Ollivander, if it could happen back then to the people in my Grams’ story, it could happen again! It is Christmas Eve! The ancient magic is very strong tonight.”_

Ancient magic. The Dark Lord was obsessed with finding the ancient magic, but somehow Draco didn’t think it was the same kind Luna meant. Hers sounded more…real.

_“You’re mixing up your holidays, sweet Luna,”_ Ollivander replied with a weak chuckle. _“I don’t think your Maccabees celebrated Christmas Eve.”_

Draco wondered what the world would celebrate once the Dark Lord won…

_“I know that, Mr. Ollivander! That’s not the point! Sometimes, you just have to believe in the light, whatever the source, and then it can find you. Maybe, if we just believe a little bit, our light will last as well, like theirs did. Because it’s Christmas magic!”_

At that moment, the candle faded to just a glowing ember and the cellar was plunged into darkness. Draco heard the girl hiss sharply and then sigh.

_“I reckon someone else needs the Christmas magic more tonight. Maybe, it’s with Harry.”_ She paused and then added very softly, _“Or with Dad.”_

Suddenly, Draco found himself pulling his wand from the folds of his robe. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain the impulse. It couldn’t be atonement; he wasn’t fool enough to believe the black marks against him could be annulled by silly acts of charity. He couldn’t save a soul he didn’t have, even if he believed it needed saving. But, as he walked silently away and back up the cellar steps, he cast the spell over his shoulder anyway, letting the nonverbal _Lumos_ reignite the dying candle with a tiny, brilliant burst. 

At least someone would have light on Christmas Eve.


End file.
